A Day in the Crisis Nursery...
As I look around the playroom , I see Gina, a house parent, softly rocking a baby boy in her arms. “Tap, tap, tap”, her feet say as they push the rocking chair back and forth. “Tap, tap, tap” such a soothing rhythm. The baby boy, gently sucking on his bottle. The child looks so peaceful and safe within her arms.
Those tiny fingers, and tiny toes so small, so perfect. My heart aches for his poor mother. This precious little boy is her first and she’s utterly exhausted. She dropped him off today, desperate for a few hours of sleep.
I hear our Foster Grandma's voice and turn my head to the far side of the playroom, where she sits on the sofa, her hands gently cradling a book. A toddler snuggles up close against her. She touches the picture of a truck in the book, “truck” she says and then follows it with “camion” (truck in spanish). “Now you try,” she says. “Uck, Uck!” the young girl says. Grandma claps her hands, “good!”.
I sit crossed legged on the floor, the twins sit near me playing Legos. The girls are almost identical, but I can tell them apart because Amelia’s hair is just one shade lighter than Sarah’s. The sunlight peeks through the blinds, stretching towards the Lego structure. “Let’s make a garden next to the house.” Sarah says. I smile and reach for 2 large flat green Legos. “Here’s green for the grass. And we can use these small pink ones for flowers. Oh what about a…” my sentence is cut short by a knock on the door.
My eyebrows raise…
We were not expecting any other kids today. Walking past the table toward the door, I pause for a moment to peak at the finger paintings laid out across the table. Knowing it was a mistake even before I do it, I take my finger and softly touch the blue paint. Yep, still wet, I think.
I answer the door and standing there is a frazzled woman who before I can speak, blurts out, “Thank God I found you! The kids are in the car and they won’t stop fighting!” I peak my head out the door to see her vehicle moving from side to side.
Her name is Carla, and as she continues “I didn’t know what to do! So I called a friend and she said I should come here.” I look at her, with her long dark hair pulled into a ponytail, a few loose hairs flying in the wind. I notice her face is tense and the muscles in her jaw are tight.
I smile and say, “we will be happy to get you scheduled, let’s bring in the kids”.
She lets out a big sigh, then a small chuckle, “Jack’s a runner, he will be to the corner in no time and John he will run the other way… and then there’s the little one…” While she continues to talk, I step out of the house and onto the concrete driveway. “Not to worry. I’ll help you,” I say as we start to walk towards the car.
Carla’s breath starts to slow slightly
The rise and fall of her chest is starting to match mine. They all enter the home and I quickly lock the door, just in case little Jack and John do decide to run. I introduce the kids to Gina, Grandma, and the other children. The kids start searching the toy bins trying to decide which one contains the treasure they are looking for. The red bin? Nope, green, orange, pink blue? Bingo! Zack finds little people toys and Gina helps set up the play houses. Jack and John find the race car tracks and start playing. I invite mom to sit while she fills out paperwork.
While she writes, Carla continues to share her story.
“Usually I can’t wait until their dad gets home but lately we just end up arguing and I feel like a bad mom. I swore I would never fight in front of my kids like my parents did…”.
Tears come to her eyes, “Today John dumped an entire gallon of milk! While I was cleaning it up the boys started wrestling and knocked over a lamp, there was glass everywhere. My grandma gave that lamp to me as a wedding gift.” I can see Carla is getting more upset but I understand she needs to let this out. “The boy’s almost stepped on the glass and I cut my finger!” Carla continued, “Then the toilet overflowed and drenched the carpet which is now probably ruined and will be another argument with my husband”.
We finish up the paperwork, and schedule her for an additional “break” the following Saturday. Then with a hint of excitement in her eyes. Carla says bye to her boys and walks out the door for a much-needed break.
After work I settle into my recliner. The soft glow of the TV illuminates my living room. Flipping through channels something catches my eye. A news headline “Child dead…” Thinking back on all of the sweet and rambunctious children I’ve seen, I can't help but think. “If only they would have called for help.” Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with emotion and the tears come without warning, without permission. Tears flowing down my cheeks, I think back to all of the children we have seen. The children that went on to live full lives and the children that didn’t. Sitting there, I allow the tears to drip off the end of my chin, soaking my nightgown, as a thought crosses my mind.
